“If he is not John Barclay, then I am not—­hic-cup—­not Tom Watson.  He’s a bird, though! aint he, old gentleman?—­hic-cup—­Look here, I’ll give you five dollars,—­hic-cup—­if you’ll stop these,—­hic—­these confounded hic-hic-hic-cups—­There now—­There’s a chance for you!—­hic—­blast ’em!  He swore off for six months, ha! ha! ha!  And it’s just,—­hic—­just a week to-night since the six months were up.  Hurrah for freedom and principle!  Hur—­hic—­hurrah!”

“Thomas Watson!—­”

“Don’t come your preaching touch over me, mister, if you please.  I’m free Tom Watson,—­hic-hic-hic-cup—­I’m—­hic—­I’m a regular team—­whoop!  John, there, you see, would drink to freedom and principle,—­hic-cup—­on the—­hic—­day his pledge was up.  But the old fellow was—­hic—­too strong—­hic-cup—­for him.  He’s been drunk as a fool ever since—­hic-cup!—­”

Just at that moment a cab came by which was stopped by the old man.  Young Barclay was gotten into it and driven to Mr. Gray’s dwelling.

When brought to the light, he presented a sad spectacle, indeed.  His face was swollen, and every feature distorted.  His coat was torn, and all of his clothing wet and covered with mud.  Too far gone to be able to help himself, Mr. Gray had him removed to a chamber, his wet garments taken off, and replaced by dry under-clothing.  Then he was put into a bed and left for the night.  When the morning broke, Barclay was perfectly sober, but with a mind altogether bewildered.  The room in which he found himself, and the furniture, were all strange.  He got up; and looked from the window; the houses opposite were unfamiliar.

“Where am I?  What is the meaning of all this?” he said, half-aloud, as he turned to look for his clothes.  But no garments of any kind, not even his hat and boots, were visible.

“Strange!” he murmured, getting into bed again, and clasping his hands tightly upon his aching and bewildered head.  He had lain, thus, for some minutes, trying to collect his scattered senses, when the door of his chamber was opened by a servant, who brought him in a full suit of his own clothes; not, however, those he remembered to have worn the day previous.

As soon as the servant had withdrawn, the young man, who had felt altogether disinclined to speak to him, hurriedly arose, and dressed himself.  On attempting to go out, he was surprised, and somewhat angered, to find that the door of the room had been locked.

Ringing the bell with a quick jerk, he awaited, impatiently, an answer to his summons, for the space of about a minute, when he pulled the cord again with a stronger hand.  Only a few moments more elapsed, when the key was turned in the door, and Mr. Gray entered.

“Mr. Gray!  Is it possible!” Barclay ejaculated, as the old man stepped into the room, and closed the door after him.

“I can hardly believe it possible, John,” his father’s friend said, as he turned towards him a sad, yet unreproving countenance.